LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



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NEWSPAPER 



BALLADS 



BY 



THOMAS HALL SHASTID. 



Newspaper Ballads, 



BY 



THOMAS HALL SHASTID. 



a 



PITTSFIELD, ILL.: 

Published by the Author 

1880. . 



r 






Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1879, by 

THOMAS HALL SHASTID, 

In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



Printed and Bound by 

The Authors' Publishing Compajtx 

27 Bond St., New York. 



PREFACE. 

I have given this little volume the name of " Newspaper 
Ballads" because from time to time they were published in the 
newspapers. I have also been bold enough to add, in a few in- 
stances, a poem or two which have not as yet received publica- 
tion. I hope sincerely that my poems in book form will be re- 
ceived as well as they were in the newspapers. I hope my works 
will not be criticised, as they are productions from the pen of a 
young author;— only thirteen years old. 

Respectfully, 

T. H. SHASTID. 



PART I. 

PATHETIC. 



This Part is respectfully dedicated to my cousin, 
J. S. COWDCOT. 

The Author. 



NEWSPAPER BALLADS. 



PART I. 



THE SHIPWBECK. 

The Seagull screamed and flopped his wings 

And hied him to his home ; 
The breakers dashed upon the shore — 

Their crests were filled with foam. 

The briny mouuts were thrown on high, 

Where reeled a ship ; the gale 
Had shorn her of her m/ists, and tore 

In shreds each flying sail. 

Alas ! A wail comes o'er the deep — 

The ship is sinking fast — 
The mighty mountains of the sea 

Are aided by the blast. 

'Tis morn again, the rosy morn, 

The storm at sea is o'er; 
The elements are calm and still, 

The wreck is on the shore. 

Then take good care in future life, 

While near the billow's roll ; 
Take care lest your own self be lost 

By shipwreck of your soul. 



NE WSPAPER BALLADS. 

Then never let the breakers roll, 
To whelm the bark within, 

As in the world you sail around 
The blackened sea of sin. 



GOXE TO EEST. 

Little Ada now has gone 

To that land above, 
Where no trouble ever comes ; 

All is brightness, all is love. 

]S T ow an angel far away, 

In that land of light ; 
Cheer up, oh, afflicted ones, 

She is gone where all is bright. 

Father, cheer the grieving parents ; 

Help them now to bear the woe ; 
Pity us, Thy simple children, 

In this land so far below. 

Angels carried her to heaven, 

Clothed her in their robes of light ; 

She has gone, but not forever, 
From the loving parents' sight. 

Little Ada now has gone 

To that land above, 
Where no trouble ever comes, 

All is brightness, all is love. 



A DREAM— THE PALACE OF CHRISTIE. 



A DEE AM. 

On the summit of a mountain 
I stood in the twilight gray, 

There were many standing with me 
In the closing light of day. 

Two paths led out from the summit — 
One to lands clear and bright, 

And the other to a dark land, 
Where reigned eternal night. ' 

Many chose the road to darkness — 
Pathway leading down to hell ; 

Few there were that took the other — 
They that chose it, chose it well. 

r Twas a dream I dreamed in slumber, 

But 'tis real in every day ; 
Many take the downward pathway, 

Few that go the brighter way. 



THE PALACE OF CHEISTIE. 

An angel inhabited earth 

In the days when my years had been short ; 
In the time when the years past were few. 

'Twas May when the angel had birth; 
When she entered this world full of sorrow, 

When she entered this world full of trouble, 



10 NEWSPAPER BALLADS. 

When she entered this world full of care, 
Which the wicked and godly must bear. 



We named the angel Sweet Christie. 

But the years seemed passing quickly, 
Still the years passing swiftly, 

Three summers enjoyed our Christie; 
Three summers enjoyed our darling, 

That the fairest of fairies might envy. 
Oar flower soon withered and faded — 

The brow of our angel was shaded. 



Her form, it was pretty and slender; 

Her eyes had the sunlight of Eden — 
The beautiful sunlight of Eden, 

They had a sweet look so tender. 
Her eyelids were closed, and were icy, 

Her eyes they were closed by an angel; 
The angel of Death took away 
- Her spirit much brighter than day. 



The rose of her cheek, it was faded, 

'Tis as pale as the white that shrouds her ; 
As the very white shroud thrown around her 

Her eyebrows still darker are shaded ; 
Her flight is directed toward heaven, 

To the beautiful palace in heaven ; 
But this body 'mid others must stay 

Till it moulders and goes back to clay. 



CHRISTMAS NIGHT. 11 



CHRISTMAS NIGHT. 

Be peace on earth, good will to men; 

And let this now our carol be: 

If on the land, or on the sea, 
We still will sing the glad refrain; 

And in the closing light of day 

Good words of peace and cheer will say. 

The Babe that in the manger born 
Has risen high above the star, 
To judge in peace, or judge in war, 

To judge at night, or judge at morn. 
The star that told us of his birth 
Has given us joy and lasting mirth. 

The Man that suffered on the tree 

Is risen high above all men ; 

Then swell the glad refrain again — 
He died for me, He died for thee : 

Then peace be ever on the earth 

To one and all of human birth. 



THE SONG OF THE WIND. 

I. 

Over hill and over valley — 
Over meadows rich and green, 

Playing with the summer grasses- 
Fairer sights were never seen, 



12 NEWSPAPER BALLADS. 

Not a mortal ever saw me, 
Though I see them ev'ry day ; 

Passing like a viewless spirit 
Ou my happy singing way. 

Often do I rise up skyward, 

Chasing fast the cloudlets there, 

And I drive them headlong onward 
Till they all in fragments tear. 

Often on the field of battle, 

'Mid the storm that works them woe, 
Do I cheer 'mid cannon's rattle, 

Kissing both the friend and foe. 

And the wounded, as he listens 

To me as I whistle on, 
Thinks of home and friends and parents 

And of days that now have gone. 

I often whistle through the woods 
And toss the hunter's hair, 

He sits him down upon a log, 
While I caress him there. 

And there he sits with watchful eyes — 

His gun is in his hand — 
The one that shoots with deadly aim 

And echoes o'er the land. 

His brow with sweat is covered o'er — 

He feels my cooling sway, 
And with his large and brawny hand 

He rubs his head of gray. 



SONG OF THE WIND. 13 

But on I go until I find 

The fanner in bis field ; 
I whistle o'er his garnered store 

The willing land doth yield. 

He hails me as his merry friend, 

And thus I am to hi in ; 
I never pass without cheer 

His features calm and grim. 



II. 



I cheer the poet as he sings 
Beside some flowing stream, 

And looks upon the dim, dim past, 
A vision or a dream. 

He hails me, as I sail along, 

In accents clear and free, 
I answer in an unkown tongue 

And roll on cheerily. 

He knows me well, and loves me too- 

He watches till I come, 
And sits alone in wild ravines 

Where he can sing and hum. 

I visit oft where lovers sit, 
I hear their vows of love ; 

The bright green grass is all below — 
The sky of blue above. 



14 NEWSPAPER BALLADS. 

And there they sit and talk of love-^- 

As only lovers know ; — 
They think the world a Paradise 

And all things bright below. 



III. 

I visit oft the city's haunts, — 

I raise the dust on high, 
And whirl it like a water-wheel, 

As ever on I fly. 

I play with wigs and hats and cloaks, 
And whistle by the ho use — 

Then to a gentle zephyr turn, — 
As quiet as a mouse. 

Then breaking in an angry fit, 

I whistle by the bell 
That hangs within the steeple tall — 

And sound a faint, low knell. 

By ruins old I make my way — 

I tear the ivy vines, 
And fill with dust and sand and dirt 

The ancient sculptured lines. 



IV. 

I ramble on the deep, dark sea, 
And toss those waves of blue; 

I scare the boasting mariner 
And tear the sails in two. 



SONG OF THE WIND. 15 

The clouds that hang far overhead 

Are dropping to the sea, 
The waves as mountains now become — 

I roar out in my glee. 

The captain stands with face aghast — 

With terror in his eyes — 
The forked lightning strikes its wings 

That waft it from the skies. 

The thunder stops, the clouds pass by, 

The waves are resting now ; 
The gallant ship before my breath 

With magic speed doth plow. 



Y. 

Ye frightened goodly mariners, 

That angels were before, — 
The storm has quit, you curse again, 

You're demons wild once more. 

And when the next storm rocks the ship, 
And the thunders roll and roar, 

You drop upon your knees again — 
Art an angel then once more. 

I cross the sea, and soon I find 

Europa's golden coast ; 
The Spanish pride ; — the English tar 

Makes well his frequent boast. 



16 NEWSPAPER BALLADS. 

VI. 

I love the clime of Africa — 
The dark man's native home ; 

I love that central torrid zone 
Wherever I may roam. 

I also love the northern pole — 

Auroras glisten there — 
I love the region still and cold, 

The icebergs standing bare; 

The water trickling down their sides,- 
I waft them towards the south ; 

The walrus suns him as we go, 
And opes his giant mouth. 

I love to sway the trees in spring 
When all in green they stand, — 

In winter do I move their boughs 
While roaming o'er the land. 

Sometimes I tumble round about 
Between the earth and sky ; 

And it is true where'er I go 
A jolly one am I. 

I love to whirl the storm around 
And roar out everywhere, 

And superstitious people too 
I often sadly scare. 

I've seen fair Eden's leafy trees — 
I've seen the first of man, 



SONG OF THE WIND. 17 

And I shall see the last of him — 
I saw how he began. 

I saw the Star of Bethlehem — 

I heard the angels sing ; 
I saw the manger and the Christ — 

The great and goodly King. 

VII. 

I saw the Caesar in his Borne — 
Who raised her tow'rs on high ; 

She raised those tow'rs aloof from earth, 
She rose, and but to die. 

Then passing in the flight of years 

I saw Napoleon's day; 
I saw the time when he did rise, 

And when he fell away. 

I saw the hero Washington, 

Who for his country fought. 
" I'll free my country from her bonds," 

That was his only thought. 

I've seen more things than history — 

If I'd bring them to light, 
'Twould make the stoutest heart give way 

And start aback with fright. 



'O' 



I've witnessed murders never seen 

By any human eye ; 
I've seen the very best of men 

By violence to die. 



18 NEWSPAPER BALLADS. 



I've touched the knife that did the deed ; 

I've kissed the brow in vain ; 
No sign of life upon the face, 

So dark and black with pain. 



VIII. 

I know of secrets never known 

To any one but me. 
Fve seen where death had come at last 

To set the captive free. 

Then listen, as I roll along 

For aye and evermore, — 
I sing my only song to you, 

As I pass by your door. 



IX. 

Often have I sung this story, 
When at midnight's solemn reign ; 

Like a ghost or howling demon 
Will I sing it oft again D 

I have lived through all the ages, 
And will live for many more, 

Blowing by the stormy ocean, 
On the sea and on the shore. 

On the shore or on the ocean — 
Still a jolly friend am I, 



SONG OF THE WIND. 19 

Ne'er deserting, always constant, 
As my zejjhyrs gently fly. 

You will find me in the future 

Just as I have always been — 
Free from all unjust transgressions — 

Free from any kind of sin. 

Often do I waft the odors 

From the fields of clover sweet ; 

Then with breath of sweetest perfume, 
Do I all the woodlands greet. 



X. 

So good-bye ; I must be speeding — 
Stirring up the Autumn leaves ; 

I must visit now the farmer 
As he binds his golden sheaves. 

I must visit now the smithy 
And his anvil ringing clear, — 

Even now, his clanking irons 
Do I faintly seem to hear. 

Now, adieu; I must be speeding 
Where the wild wings swiftly fly, 

And the clouds go by me floating, 
So I bid you all good-bye. 



20 NEWSPAPER BALLADS. 



WHO WILL VISIT EST THE NIGHT-TIME ( 

Who will visit in the night-time — 
Who will watch me when I'm gone, 

And the wild wind whistles o'er me — 
And I'll be there all alone. , 



None will cherish thoughts of sadness 
When the earth is on my breast ; 

But the world may go on rolling 
If 'twill only let me rest. 



But if some kind hand, and gentle, 
Were to place me in my bed, 

And to fix the blooming flowers 
Just above my lonely head — 



It would cheer me as I lay there 
With the green grass high above ; 

I would think that some one loved me, 
And I in return would love. 



None will cherish thoughts of sadness, 
When the earth is on my breast; 

But the world may go on rolling 
If 'twill only let me rest. 



FAITHLESS CREISTABELLE. 21 



FAITHLESS OHRISTABELLE. 

" Come sit you down, old Graybeard sad, 

And tell us of your woe ! 
What makes thy face so dark and sad 

And wrinkles bow thee low!" 

His voice was weak, and near they sat 

To hear the tale he told. 
Oh ! was it some adventure that 

Was done by some knight bold. 

But oh ! it was the same sad tale 

That many have to tell. 
His was a sweetheart faithless, blind, — 

Her name was Ohristabelle. 

"I once was happy as the birds 

That flit from tree to tree, 
But time has wrought a fearful change — 

A change that ne'er will flee. 

" Yes, once I loved, — this head of mine 

Was as the raven's plume, 
But it has whitened been for years — 

Mine was a dreadful doom. 

" I loved an angel brighter than 

The skies that hang above, 
And everything that e'er I saw 

It seemed was filled with love. 



2-2 NEWSPAPER BALLADS. 

" And when she promised me to be 
My mate in joy and strife, 

It seemed as though 'twas well to live 
An earthly, mortal life. 



" But when I came to lead her to 

The altar for her vow, — 
It makes me shudder at the thought, 

And sweat be on my brow. 



" For, ! the look she gave to me r 
And turning, cold as stone, 

She left for me in after life 
To bear my woe alone. 



" She snow, it lies upon a grave 
This bitter winter's day ; 

It is the grave where she was laicl- 
Aud where she long shall stay. 



" For, Ah ! The look she gave to me 
'Twas like the fires of hell, 

It burnt my heart as wood away 
Oh, faithless Christabelle ! " 



He wiped a dropping tear away — 
That tear a tale did tell, 

And as it fell we knew 'twas shed 
For faithless Christabelle ! 



SONNETS., 23 



SONNETS. 

No. 1. — Winter. 

The snow is lying deep upon the ground, 
And naught disturbs the quiet bitter air 
Except the distant jingling sleigh bell's sound, 
That seems to banish from my heart all care. 
The trees are barren of their waving leaves, 
The limbs are swaying sadly to and fro; 
It seems as though it for its verdure grieves, 
As down it shakes the flakes of shining snow. 
Ob, thou to me forever art a friend^- 
I would that you were for the whole year round, 
And He on high those blessings by you send 
That always in your bount'ous lap are found; 
And you and I would be as angels here, 
And sorrow never know nor ever shed a tear ! 



No. 2. — Moonlight. 

Dancing rays of shining silver are they, 
Piercing coldly through the deepest, darkest 

night ; 
It does not blind with brightness of the day - 
But sheds its rays of cold moonlight. 
Uncertain objects in this light I see, — 
With all the sharpness of the sight of man 
One cannot tell what they might surely be, 
And only demigods or real gods can. 
I love to sit and watch them as they glide, 
And throw the shadow of some spreading tree, 



24 NEWSPAPER BALLADS. 

And in that shadow soon my form shall hide, 
As fast I toward the love'd spots do flee. 
Shine on pale moonlight from thy lamp above, 
And my heart o'erbriniming with youth's love ! 



No. 3. — Sunshine. 

Thou dancing sunbeams through the happy day 
Dost cheer me on my onward path through life, 
You show to me more clear my stumbling way 
And lighter make my almost ceaseless strife. 
Thou art to me a greater friend indeed, 
Than others I have loved up to this hour ; — 
They are oft but a wildly growing weed — 
But thou art like a shining summer flow'r. 
The world could not exist if not for the thee, 
The Ice King would possession then obtain ; 
The light and beauty from all things would flee, 
And nought but lasting, dark'ning chaos reign. 
But now we have the cheerful, glittering light 
That keeps the universe alive and bright. 



A TALE. 

The traveler, "hte walked along — 
The night was cold and drear ; 

The moon came from behind a cloud — 
Its beams were bright and clear. 



A TALE. 25 

The moon shone bright, bnt did not pierce 

The dark and deep ravine ; 
The banks were steep on either side — 

A brooklet ran between. 



And by the brook a villain stood, 
His club was in his hand ; 

He was a noted murderer, 
And dreaded o'er the land. 



The traveler descends the banks, 
And all is still around, 

Until a thud the silence broke, 
And not another sound. 



He plunges in the crystal flood, 
The murdered body, dead, 

And iu the running limpid tide 
He wastied his hands 'tis said. 



But, witness to the awful deed, 
The brooK cleansed not the stain, 

And then his heart of solid stone 
Gave forth a groan of pain. 



He dared to show those hands to none- 
The proof of guilt was there ; 

The curse it chilled his very blood, 
And froze it with despair. 



26 NEWSPAPER BALLADS. 

And all alone for days and nights, 

Until at last he died ; 
And laid with heart of guilt and woe 

Aby the other's side. 

And thus, when after years had flown- 
The brook was now no more — 

Their dust it sadly mingled there 
To tell the tale of yore. 



LOST IK THE SWAMP. 

Through a swamp all wet and marshy 
Plunged a trav'ler in the night ; 

Nothing noised, save hissing serpents 
Where the fire-fly struck his light. 



And the evil spirits 'round him 
Led him from the muddy path — 

Led him where the coiling serpents 
Showed their oft repeated wrath. 



Eound and round, till, all bewildered, 
Where the poison-vine it grew, 

And he saw the death-fires burning 
Green and white and red and blue. 



TO A LOVED ONE. 27 

There the wild mosquito, singing, 

Put his poison in his veins, 
And the evil spirits chained him 

With their many-linked chains. x 

Till at last, expiring sadly — 

In the darkness of the night ; 
Nothing noised, save hissing serpents, 

Where the fire-fly struck his light. 



TO A LOVED ONE. 

She was humming by the cottage — 
There beside the cottage door ; 

And the song, it took like magic 
Though I'd heard it oft before. 

And her voice it faintly quivered, 
Though 'twas sweet as sweet could be, 

And I would those sounds would once more 
Come from that sweet voice to me. 

And I would that those pale features 
Were in my near view once more ; — 

The past shall ne'er return again — 
And 't will never happen o'er. 

Her hair it was like the sunset, 

And heaven was in her eyes ; 
But still she sings beyond those gates — 

The gates of Paradise. 



28 NEWSPAPER BALLADS. 



PAST AND PBESENT. 

Let us now improve the present, 
Waiting not for something more ; 

For the past is gone forever 
And its troubles all are o'er. 



Let us hope not in the future 
Golden days will be at hand ; 

Try, keep trying, for that country, 
In a fairer, better land. 



Up, be doing in the present, 

Waiting not for something more ; 

For the past is gone torever 
And its troubles all are o'er. 



Those who wait are ne'er receiving- 
Those who act are always blest; 

Up, be doing, still be acting, 
This is not a time to rest. 



Let us now improve the present, 
Waiting not for something more ; 

For the past is gone forever 
And its troubles all are o'er. 



CLEOPATRA'S NEEDLES- 29 



OLEOPATBA'S NEEDLES. 

It was in Afric's torrid clime, 

Two sisters stood alone, 
And what they witnessed was a sight 

To melt a heart of stone. 

The English came and carried off 

One sister, far away ; 
And now in London's haunts she stands 

And sorrows all the day. 

They took her from her native spot, 

Where she wont to stand, 
And put her in a foreign clime, 

Within a foreign land. 

O ! how she feels, with stranger eyes 
Than on bright Egypt's shore ; — 

She stands where she had never been — 
To stand for evermore. 



The others came with iron bonds, 
Her sister, too, they brought, 

To grace America's bright parks 
Where pity ne'er was thought. 

Ah ! yes, in New York city's haunts 

That sister is to be ; 
Between the two the waters lie — 

A dark and stormy sea. 



30 NEWSPAPER BALLADS. 

Ah ! now, when I to Egypt's plains 

Do wend my careful way, 
I'll seek the spot where once they stood, 

And there respect I'll pay. 

But, Oh, the beauties will be gone — 

The sisters are not there, 
Insulted by a grosser race, 

They stand where u aught is fair. * 



HASTINGS. 

Oh, bright the day when England's crown 

Came forth to crown the king ; 
And in the minds of those around 

It seemed no trifling thing. 

" Give, back the crown !" was William's word, 

" Or my good sword shall pay, 
With heavy thrust and bleeding cut, 

For this you've done to-day." 

For Edward's will that crown had sent 

To grace stern William's head, 
But Harold too had claimed the right, 

And for that right he bled. 

Aye! bled, and died, and lost the crown 

He'd struggled so to save, 
And ah ! that struggle led him to 

His solitary grave. 



HASTINGS. 31 

Yes! Godwin's son was born to fight — 

To chase and not to fly, 
And he was born for Hastings' fate, 

And that fate was to die. 

Ah ! weep ye noble Saxon men— 

The last king of your line 
Shall sleep the cold, stiff sleep of death, 

That solemn sleep — divine. 

To-day we merry are and joy 

Doth reign supreme around, 
And music seems in ev'ry noise 

And ev'ry passing sound. 

To-morrow comes — that joy is gone — 

There lies the human clay, 
The spirit to its rest has gone 

Where brighter shines the day. 

We know not when that bidding comes 

That bears us from the earth ; 
How few the years that stand between 

Our death-call and our birth. 

Thus was't with Harold — in the night, 

Carousing in the tent, 
His joy was great, but 'morrows light, 

His knee in suppliance bent. 

The wine went round, and small thought they 

Upon the next day's fight, 
That Harold soon in death should lay 

Within the waning light. 



32 NEWSPAPER BALLADS. 

In William's camp no cup went round, 
But heads were bent in prayer, 

And plans were laid ; then silence kept 
Jts peaceful reigning there. 

Oh ! solemn was the prayer they said — 
And solemn was the scene; 

The archers with their bows stood by 
With grave and silent mien. 

The morning came, — the proud array 

Stood silent as the dead ; 
The battle-axes in their hands 

Did rise far overhead. 

And in the midst, his armor bright, 
Stood Harold with his sword, 

And far and near around stood those 
Who waited at his word. 

The banner rose above them all — 

Its warrior stood on high, 
And precious stones did mark him there 

That scarcely wealth could buy. 

Duke William led his heroes forth 
And gave them to the fray, 

Ah, many of those heroes there 
Ne'er saw another day. 

The battle raged, and sunset came, 
And flashed on armor bright, 

And all around were mangled men — 
It was an awful sight. 



HASTINGS, 33 

King Harold fell, the arrow pierced 

And bore him to the ground ; 
Ah ! then was heard a trampling noise — 

A wildly flying sound. 

The warrior and the banner fell, 

And dyed were they in blood 
No more the Saxon's song their shout : 

" God's rood ; aye, holy rood." 



PART II. 

HUMOROUS. 



This part is most respectfully dedicated to 
MISS MAGGIE SHASTID. 



(36 



NEWSPAPER BALLADS. 



PART II. 



THE MAPLE TEEE. 

By the sckoolhouse stands the maple — 
Once a young and thriving tree ; 

Now 'tis staunch and high and rugged, 
And its limbs are swaying free. 

On those limbs the broad initials, 
Growing as the tree did grow, 

Kissed by ev'ry floating zephyr 
That around the tree did blow. 

Some of those whose names are seen here 

Married are (a prior death), 
And have children round them howling, 

(Demon-like) in ev'ry breath. 

Some have died — by mumps or measles, 
• Some by Cupid shot have been ; 
If I were to write a bible 
I would make such shooting sin. 

Some have crossed the stormy ocean — 
Some, whose names are on the tree, 

And the girls' names that I cut there 
Long since have gone back on me. 



38 NEWSPAPER BALLADS. 



TO A LOVER. 

Be thou not so much assuming, 
(For the day will come when you 

To some man of Cupid's wounding 
Will be stuck as fast as glue.) 

Listen, if you're worth advising — 
For experience me has taught ; 

Marriage licenses (death warrants) 
They are very dearly bought. 

Yes, I know, with good intentions 
Does the young man promise you, 

You may have all bright possessions 
That your azure eyes may view. 

Let me, as a friend advise you, — 
If you're of that kind of cast — * 

Soon or late the pepper 's coming 
When the honey-moon is past. 



A WRITER'S EXPERIENCE. 

I was sitting in my study, 

And my thoughts had flown away 
There I mused until I found me 

In the closing light of day. 

Suddenly I heard a rapping 
On my little study's door ; 



A WRITER'S EXPERIENCE. 39 

" Surely," said I, " now I'll catch it", 
And I leaped upon the floor. 

Maybe 'tis my wife intruding, 
With her wrathful, vengeful ire ; 

And I thought ajar was coming — 
For her hair was red as fire. 

Then with trembling hand I opened, 

And I started quickly back, 
All the time I was expecting 

To receive a sounding crack. 

But the fates for once preserved me — 
'Twas some one I did not know. 

On her forehead was Time's furrow 
And her hair was white as snow. 

" 'Scuse me for me bold intrusion, 

But 'tis business you see, 
An' hopes you'll pay attention — 

Though its for the likes o' me. 

" I'm a woman", cried she sadly 
" An' I lives a mile from here " — 

Then she wildly broke down weeping ; 
"I'm a woman, an' — oh dear !" 

" That is very true dear madam," 
And my words in this wise ran : 

" 'Tis too true that you're a woman 
Leastways ye are not a man." 



40 NEWSPAPER BALLADS. 

" Yes, yer sees, I loved roe Johnny, 
But he's gone away from me — 

An' no more he'll tear his britches 
Cliinin' up the tallest tree. 

" He used to ketch the little bees, 
And his voice would wildly ring, 

When he come to me a cryin' 
'Bout that little flyin' thing." 

" An' I used to whale him soundly 
When he wouldn't go to mill ; 

Now the leather strap is silent, 
And the shingle, too, is still. 

" An' he used to smash the dishes, — 
Yes, the young 'un better knew, — 

-Then it was the time I threatened 
That I'd cut him clean in two. 

" An' he used to make the mud cakes, 
An' he made 'urn just his best — 

Then, the mud was on his fingers, 
Now it's on his little breast. 

" Yes, how often I remember, 
When he tore his panterloons ; 

How angelic he was lookin' 
With his eyes as big as moons. 

" But when I had got through with him 
Dewdrops stood upon his eyes." 



CHARLIE'S INFANT PIG. 41 

Here she heaved with groanings many, 
Plaintive and entreating sighs. 

" So ye see, I've come to ye, sir ; 

Ye must make a verse on him, 
Say he had one pair of britches, 

An' his hat without a brim. 

" Ye must do the best ye can, sir — 

Everything I've told to ye ; 
But I don't know as ye'll do it, 

Leastways, for the likes o' me." 

Then she vanished from my vision — 

From my penetrating sight ; 
There I was alone, and thinking 

In the fast decreasing light. 

moral : 

Never be a poet. Never ! 

For the dangers many more 
Than the sands upon the seacoast — 

On the sandy ocean's shore. 



CHAELIE'S INFANT PIG. 

Charlie had an infant pig — 
'Twas very small indeed, sir ; 

And when I^saw his infant last, 
'Twas growing like a weed, sir. 



42 NEWSPAPER BALLADS. 

Charlie fed it very well, — 
He watched it like a father ; 

But, in my view, I thought it was 
A bushel full of bother. 

He carried water every day, 
Until its back did rise, sir, 

And pretty soon that piggie was 
Of very monstrous size, sir. 

It was a sight, so fine, to see 
His infant pig there lying, 

And it would take three feet of rope 
To round its head be tying. 

It was the famous Poland stock — 
But may be that was blow, sir ; 

For Charlie likes to brag about 
His infant thing, you know, sir. 

I went to see his infant pig, 
It weighed a ton or more, sir; 

I know it would, if you'd subtract 
A thousand and a score, sir. 

I hope to see that babe again — 
As pretty as a rose, sir ; 

And when it lies upon the ground 
I'll keep away my toes, sir. 

Oh ! Charlie had an infant pig, 
'Twas very small indeed, sir ; 

And, when I saw his infant last, 
'Twas growing like a weed, sir. 



THE STUPID BEAU. 43 



THE STUPID BEAU. 

Within our town there lived a bean, 

A stupid chap was he ; 
Where'er his feet would take him to, 

He surely there would be. 



He took his girls all riding once ; 

The horse, it ran before, 
And when they put the whip to him 

He always ran the more. 



But pretty soon they struck a stump, 

That tumbled them about, 
And when they found they were not in, 

They knew they must be out. 



The horse went on and left them there 
(They needs must walk to town), 

And when at last they did get up, 
They knew they were not down. 



They called him stupid then, of course, 
And rode with hkn no more ; 

And when he found they liked him not, 
He knew their love was o'er. 



44 NEWSPAPER BALLADS. 



THE FLEA AND MYSELF. 

When at midnight quick uprising, 

Do I stand upon the floor, 
It is surely not surprising 

That I'd make an awful roar. 

But you know that I'm a martyr, 
When the flea he bites my back, 

And I'm happy as a Tartar 
When his little bones I crack. 

Once a strange adventure had I, — 
One crawled down my britches-leg; 

Then I had him — with a sad sigh 
Did he soon begin to beg. 

" Villain," said I to him, ".villain, 
Why do you disturb my rest ? " 

" I will tell you, if you're willin'," 
And he plead his level best. 

u That is how I make my living — 
Ah ! yes ! living on your hide, 

And you know, sometimes, upon you 
Do I wish to take a ride." 

Thereupon I grew right angry, 
And I fought him like a man ; 

In return that flea, he fought me 
As a mad one only can. 



THE SCHOOLHOUSE. 45 

Pretty soon I overcame him, 
Arid I mashed him on the floor, 

And his spirit wildly shrieking, 
Flew right past me out the door. 

Let this be enough of warning 

To these robbers of my rest ; 
When they, up with many curses — 

Fighting me their very best. 



THE SCHOOLHOUSE. 

Oh, how often, when I'm thinking 

Of the days forever gone, 
Do I see a picture, chilling 

All the marrow in my bone. 

I will paint to you that picture 

With the brush of verse and rhyme ; 

It shall unchanged be, and real 
As it was in olden time. 

There beside its long dark shadow 

Gliding onward, far away, 
Stands the schoolhouse, old yet standing 

Where I spent the fleeting day. 

On the teacher's desk there lies not 

Pen and pencil as before, 
And behind it sits no teacher, 

As there often was of yore. 



46 NEWSPAPER BALLADS. 

Laid away now is the ferule, 
And my back it hurts no more 

All those pains I felt in boyhood 
Now forever all are o'er. 

Now no more I wear the dunce- cap, 
Though I am a dunce the same, 

But who cares if dunce we all be — 
There is nothing in a name. 



i & 



* 



Often did I tussle wildly, 
But I came off second best, 

And he tanned my jacket for me — 
Then I would not let him rest. 

And oft I wrestled with the boys,— 
They found that would not do, 

For when a laddie tackled me, 
I made him black and blue. 

And when our lively pedagogue 

Did find I made so free, 
He took me gently in his hand 

And did likewise with me. 



OYSTEK-SOUP. 

Oh, talk not of your venison, 

Or chicken fricassee ; 
But bring the boiling oyster-soup 

To cheer the heart of me. 



OYSTER-SOTJP. 47 

Its flavor it is very sweet — 

The taste is better still ; 
My hunger makes me long for more — 

I ne'er can get my fill. 

The oyster leaves his home and friends 

Upon the ocean shore, 
And graces now my steaming dish, 

As he has done before. 

But what is oyster's needs to mine, — 

For oysters I must get, 
And though they're oft been in my mouth, 

They ne'er have bit me yet. 

Still Mrs. Oyster waits the time 
When he should home return, — 

And opes his mouth and kisses her 
Where oft the blushes burn. 

So here it goes, for what care I, 

At least within my song ; 
If Mrs. Oyster waits for him 

She's waiting pretty long. 



THE END. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 





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